{"id":770,"date":"2008-02-23T10:23:00","date_gmt":"2008-02-23T15:23:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.michellebeachy.com\/blog\/saturday-february-23-2008-2\/"},"modified":"2008-02-23T10:23:00","modified_gmt":"2008-02-23T15:23:00","slug":"saturday-february-23-2008-2","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.michellebeachy.com\/blog\/saturday-february-23-2008-2\/","title":{"rendered":"Saturday February 23, 2008"},"content":{"rendered":"

For two weeks now, Mom has been trying to convince me to “go see Martha.”  I kept pushing it off, sarcastically thinking I’d tried everything I could in my first pregnancy and since it didn’t work anyway, why spend the money?  Meanwhile, my pain level escalated daily and my tolerance level for life in general took a correlating nose dive.  Sitting for thirty minutes at a time felt like torture and my last few Sunday afternoons were spent crying and writhing on the couch.  <\/font><\/p>\n

This week, I gave in.  Martha is an unlicensed, hands-on training, neuro-muscular massage therapist … not really the well-researched professional who gives me the rationale behind everything kind of person I typically seek out.  Mom’s glowing reports after her own treatment were my biggest nudge.  It takes an hour and 20 minutes to drive to her house.  I was practically in tears before I ever left the house and kneading my knuckles into my back and trying to curl into a backwards fetal position by the time I was half-way there.  How could this be worth it?<\/font><\/p>\n

I’m not sure what I was expecting; but certainly not someone who’s face beams when she smiles.  If I had to sum her up in one word, it would be pleasant … a word not particularly associated with anything remotely related to me the last while.  A few questions from her, a few explanations from me and she got to work.  A little massaging, a little of the vibrator, and then the poking here and pushing there.  I kept shrieking and jumping off the seat of the chair everywhere she touched.  My childbirth instructor last time said it sounded like a rib out of place; but I never could find anyone who agreed with her or knew how to treat it if it was.  Martha found seven.  “Well, that’s part of your problem,” she said after repositioning them.  Both of my shoulders were displaced and after great opportunities for Lamaze practice while she adjusted them, she diagnosed tennis elbow on both sides.  I knew my right shoulder and elbow were bad because they kept wanting to lock up and my entire arm tingled when it wasn’t supported; but it did surprise me when the places she touched on the left side produced just as much pain.  <\/font><\/p>\n

I drove home positively sore.  I told Martha just before I left that I have one issue with my mom.  She had so much energy after her treatment from finally being pain free and I couldn’t wait for the energy surge.  But all I wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep.  <\/font><\/p>\n

And now, I feel so different.  Last night I sat at the computer working on a web page design for almost two hours with discomfort that made me wish for 600 mg of advil instead of writhing in agony and wistfully thinking it would be nice to somehow get hooked up to general anesthesia for the next three weeks.  I woke up this morning feeling as though I’d lost ten pounds.  One look in the mirror and I obviously hadn’t; but my basketball feels diminished now that my back can be vertical instead of sway-backing in abject misery.  Best of all, I caught myself smiling instead of constantly feeling as though my face had gotten lost somewhere in the frozen arctic.  I like this a lot.<\/font><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

For two weeks now, Mom has been trying to convince me to “go see Martha.”  I kept pushing it off, sarcastically thinking I’d tried everything I could in my first… <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-770","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p39ynQ-cq","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack-related-posts":[],"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.michellebeachy.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/770","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.michellebeachy.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.michellebeachy.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.michellebeachy.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.michellebeachy.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=770"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.michellebeachy.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/770\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.michellebeachy.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=770"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.michellebeachy.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=770"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.michellebeachy.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=770"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}